


crawl a mile in my clothes (i am barefoot and alone)

by amako



Series: ShikaSakuWeek 2020 [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character, Autistic Nara Shikamaru, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Body Swap, Chronic Pain, Disability, Disabled Character, Disabled Haruno Sakura, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Haruno Sakura-centric, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Light Romance, Male-Female Friendship, Nara Shikamaru-centric, Neurodivergent Nara Shikamaru, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Fourth Shinobi War, Pre-Relationship, Religion, Slow Burn, Trans Identities, WTF, alright that's enough can someone explain how this is somehow NOT a tag???, and that's in my long multi-chapters sooo, but like lo-fi body horror ya know, cause im literally writing this as i go, explain this to me, if you've ever read my writing, kinda body horror, like come on, like it's more a deep exploration of characters and relationships ya know, neurodivergent character, ok what the fuck how is that not a canon tag, oooh this is a nice tag, same wtf ao3 what is this, spirituality, very specific but nice, you know that my characters usually kiss like two times top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amako/pseuds/amako
Summary: When it happens, it's like flicking a switch.There's no blissful unconsciousness from which to wake up, a fresh start to take in the changes to your world. There's no downtime, no pause, no moment to comprehend what happened.In a fraction of a second, the world as they know it is turned upside-down. They understand immediately what happened. They just don't know why. Or how. Or even how to begin to process it, because how do you process something like that?When it happens, it's like flicking a switch.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Nara Shikamaru
Series: ShikaSakuWeek 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946179
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54
Collections: ShikaSaku Week 2020





	1. like flicking a switch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for ShikaSaku Week 2020  
> Day 1: streetlights at dusk  
> & Insomnia by IAMX  
> Lyrics #1 “ Oh, my god, you’re beautiful  
> Why do you stay with this neurotic fool?”  
> Lyrics #2 “ I don’t know what is happening to me  
> Or if I’ll die, ‘cause I just never sleep”
> 
> Listen people, I don't have a plan for this. I haven't had internet access for days, I'm very depressed, so this is a mess. Originally I was going to write one story per day as I usually do, but then I couldn't write something satisfying for this idea I had that would give me time to also write seven other pieces, so I thought I could do a seven-part story + the remix challenge but now I'm not sure about that anymore so I don't know what you're going to get. It'll be wild, it's all I can give you. But honestly I've been alone with my own head without seeing a single other human for three weeks now and I literally need human interaction or I'm going to do something terrible for myself, so I'd rather post this even if I don't know where I'm going with it than letting it stew in my own head for more days while I'm still alone. So here goes nothing.
> 
> This will probably be pretty heavy stuff in terms of, like, thinking and wondering about the nature of things, and not very action-y or fluffy. but then again I always write angst so it's not like you're coming to my story for the sparkling romance, is it. but it's not that angsty either, compared to some of my work. it's more weird than anything, i guess. character and relationship tags will be updated as i write, since i don't have any plans so far besides how it'll tentatively end. pls give me feedback i need to talk to people. take care of you, i'm talking to you, human behind a screen, i hope you're doing good in this shitty world and shittier timeline. i hope something made you smile today.

When it happens, it's like flicking a switch.

There's no blissful unconsciousness from which to wake up, a fresh start to take in the changes to your world. There's no downtime, no pause, no moment to comprehend what happened.

In a fraction of a second, the world as they know it is turned upside-down. They understand immediately what happened. They just don't know why. Or how. Or even how to begin to process it, because how do you process something like that?

When it happens, it's like flicking a switch.

One second their squad is fighting against the highest members of a doomsday cult that built itself on the ashes of the Rabbit Goddess, creeping in the underbelly of Hi no Kuni. The next, the leader spits out a rapid-fire jutsu name, does a complicated sequence of mudrā, and the rich colours of the evening sky are suffocated in darkness.

Dark like they've never experienced before, no one can see their own hands, and that's when it happens.

Like flicking a switch.

Two breathless grunts of pain, like they've just been punched in the stomach, then

they

_scream_

The sound reverberates through the darkness like it's a cave, and just as fast as it appeared, the dark dissipates, the evening sky and its colours of dusk comes back, and they collapse like crumpled origami.

They haven't stopped screaming.

Back arched in one single line of tension, only the back of their heads and their toes touching the ground, they irradiate excruciating pain. In the distraction they provide, the cult leaders disappear. The remaining members of the squad rush to their side, the calm blankness of training taking over as they methodically try to find what's wrong with them.

No external wounds, no bleeding, no fractures. No bruising, or frothing at the mouth, no putrid smell or crawling maggots.

(jutsu are getting more and more creative, these days)

Nothing looks wrong. Nothing's out of place. They're just... screaming. Screaming so loud all the birds have flown away, so loud that in comparison, the silence around is deafening.

Then, like someone flicked a switch, they stop screaming. In unison, their taunt bodies crumble and they curl around themselves. Only then, do they start talking. Or more like, repeating a single word, again and again. Repeating their own name, again and again.

His body shakes like a leaf as he manages to lie on his front, his eyes finding her shaking body immediately. With a whimper that turns into uncontrollable sobbing, he begins to crawl towards her.

In the same breath, she begins to do the same.

Not wanting to worsen whatever's happening, no one touches them. They only watch, as they painstakingly crawl towards each other, in a final, desperate grab, linking their hands.

Their voices quiet, the shaking lessens, and they manage to scramble into a sitting position, cross-legged, facing each other. Ashy faces and wet cheeks, red-rimmed eyes dripping with exhaustion, hair in disarray, they stare at each other, still looking like they're about to collapse.

"Shikamaru," he says, swallowing hard around his own name.

"Sakura," she answers, her voice cracking on the last sound. Her hand, trembling, rises to her own face, a shaking finger poking her cheek hard, the soft skin giving under the pressure, whitening as the blood leaves the area.

"What the fuck," Shikamaru whispers. "What the fuck?!" He sounds on the verge of hysteria. Sakura isn't looking much better.

With practiced movements, as if they've done it their whole life, they lean towards each other and begin searching the other's clothes. Sakura dips her fingers into Shikamaru's flack vest's front pocket and takes out his pack of cigarettes and a metal lighter.

She flicks the lid open and puts a cigarette between her lips with assured hands, as she stands still so Shikamaru can slip a hand underneath her standard-issued long-sleeved blue shirt, making a few of their teammates gasp quietly at the lack of care on her face about the fact that she has a man's hand underneath her shirt.

Shikamaru makes a choked noise of relief and drags out a flask from Sakura's uniform, drinking a few, long mouthfuls of what smells like sake. They haven't stopped looking at each other for even a second, as they smoke and drink what should be the other's emotional support destructive habit.

Eventually, Chōji feels like they've calmed enough to maybe answer some questions, and more importantly, tell them if they need any kind of medical attention. He likes to think it'd have been the first thing Sakura would have done, but who knows. She might be too shaken up to think about it.

"Shika? Are you alright?"

Sakura makes a choked laughter kind of noise. "No, I'm really not."

And under their teammates astonished looks, they stand up, helping each other before leaning on the other for balance.

"This is Shikamaru," Shikamaru says while pointing at Sakura.

"And this is Sakura," Sakura says while pointing at Shikamaru.

The hysterical laugh that bubbles out of Chōji at that statement echoes pretty accurately the general consensus on the situation.

* * *

They don't really get a chance to talk until their squad has established camp late into the night, having ran all day trying to make good time on coming home, with the hopes that someone in Konoha can fix this mess. As it is, no one in the squad has the faintest idea how it happened, or how to reverse it. They need a Yamanaka, possibly the Slug Princess or a goddamn miracle. All in all, no one's really optimistic about the outcome of this shitshow, least of all the two affected.

But as things wind down, traps laid out and guard rotation figured out, with stomachs full of foods they're not used to, Shikamaru and Sakura sit down together, and they talk.

And as all complicated conversations, it starts with a long, awkward silence.

“So.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, shit.”

Shikamaru snorts, Sakura's voice not at all suited to the sound. “Right?!”

Sakura leans back on her arms, looking up at the starry sky. She sighs, silent for a few more moments, before she speaks in that low, rumble-y voice of his, that still spooks her hours after the initial exchange. “Is it always like this?”

Shikamaru swallows hard around the knot in his throat. “... yeah. Yeah, it is. I'm- I'm sorry. I know it's not my fault, but you shouldn't have to know what it's like living inside my brain.”

Sakura sighs again, leaning her head on what used to be her own shoulder, Shikamaru welcoming the gesture and resting his head on hers. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry too. You shouldn't have to know what it's like living inside my body.”

“Is it always like this?” Shikamaru asks, just like she did, because this is the same and right now, no one in the world knows what this is like as well as she does.

“Yeah, it is,” she says, just like he did, because she knows. She understands. “It fucking sucks to say that, but, fuck, Shikamaru... I'm so fucking glad that for some time, I don't have to feel that. And I'm so sorry that it means you have to feel it instead.”

Shikamaru's mouth flattens, his brows furrowing, but he stays silent. He knows. He understands. Neither of them is talking about it, because it's freaking them out even more than the actual reality of having _swapped bodies_ , but they've somewhat kept a copy of their memories inside their bodies, and now they have access to both sets of memories.

Sakura can see every interaction, every awkward pause, every misunderstanding, all the frustration and arguments, avoiding eye-contact like the plague and having to explain to his mom that his love for her is not conditional on him being actually capable of meeting her eyes, the hugs refused then tolerated because it hurt more to hurt them than to have to bear the crawl of ants under his skin when someone touches him and he's not prepared, the fits of crying and screaming and punching walls until blood begins to paint them, what it was like growing up a genius with this kind of brain.

Shikamaru can feel it, every cut, every knob of scar tissue, every bruise, every broken bone, he can feel the boulder falling on his back, breaking every single one of her (his) vertebraes, her spine snapped in a dozen, excruciating pieces, he feels the sword going through his (her) (his) stomach, severing flesh, muscle, organs, the following months screaming in agony when his periods came and nothing would behave as it should, the rainy days spent drooling in bed, incapable of talking or understanding what was said, the pain so bad he (she) couldn't even swallow down without saliva coating his chin.

Even now, sitting down, well-rested, he feels the burn in his muscles, the ache in his joints, the spear of pain ripping apart every nerve in his body until it feels like half of his brain power and focus is spent solely on stopping himself from screaming himself raw, the sheer amount of concentration it takes to hold a simple conversation and remember what was being said instead of rolling into a ball, biting his fingers to the bone to stop the screams of agony.

He hasn't made the connection yet, but she has, because for the first time in more than a decade, she isn't in pain and she can think _clearly_. If she were alone, she's pretty sure she would be weeping in relief by now.

But it means she can think, properly, without splitting herself in half just to control the knee-jerk reaction of screaming her pain to the world, and she's able to notice that the way he has to divert focus to make his brain work, to see people instead of patterns, to not make a fuss when he has to eat umeboshi even though the texture makes his skin crawl, the attention he pays to voices so he's not overwhelmed by hands moving and noises everywhere and the dozen thoughts his brain produces every time he blinks, that undivided focus he has to keep at all times is the exact same sort of brain power she's used for the past decade.

And strangely, in a comforting kind of way, it makes this whole mess more manageable. Because she _knows_ and he _understands_ and they _get it_ in a way no one ever has for as long as they can remember.

It makes his brain easier to handle, for her who had to deal with her own neurodivergence in such an unobtrusive way compared to him, and it makes her pain easier to handle, for him who only had to deal with pain in the context of post-mission recovery that barely took days, weeks at most, with the care she and the other medics provide for the shinobi force. Because, in many ways, in many, unexpected ways, they have the same kind of brain, and it's such a _fucking relief_.

“Anyone know about this?”

Sakura shakes her head. “If I can't solve it, no one can, and I don't see the point in sharing when it'll only get worry, misplaced guilt or frustration. You?”

“My parents. For a while, they tried to figure out what was wrong with me, until they realized nothing was. Then it was a matter of them accepting that I was different and there was nothing they could do about it unless they didn't mind being dicks. So they adapted.”

“You didn't tell your team?”

Shikamaru shrugs. “So far, I haven't needed to, and I'll be honest- I'm not looking forward to that conversation.”

Sakura sighs, massaging her forehead lightly. As much as she can relate to it, Shikamaru's brain is exhausting. Her own divergences don't manifest in the same ways and it's a new kind of strugge to deal with it. She has no idea how she'll even manage to fall asleep with that many thoughts wreaking havoc on her concentration.

Next to her, Shikamaru bites back a moan that she hears clear as day, in her own voice that she'd heard moaning like that so many times before.

“Shit, I'm sorry. Gimme a sec.”

She jumps on her feet, marvelling at the responsiveness of her body, at the lack of pain, before marching to her pack resting with the others'. She grabs a tin box with practised motions and comes back to sit down with Shikamaru. He eyes the box with curiosity mixed with understanding, while she opens it and gathers a few different pills.

“There, take those two right now, then the blue one with something to eat and the long one before going to sleep.”

Shikamaru gratefully accepts, washing the first two pills with a mouthful of sake that he doesn't realize he's drank until he's already swallowed it. He sends an incredulous look to Sakura who grimaces, looking away with something like embarrassment, or maybe stubborn shame on what used to be his own face. He frowns, but doesn't comment on what is obviously a habit for her.

Instead, he pushes down the urge to curl into a ball and pray the gods for some release, and painstakingly tries to get up. A hand that smells of cigarette smoke pushes him back down and Sakura gets up instead with an understanding look. She reaches the fire and takes two of the wooden picks as well as two of the wrapped potatoes that were cooking in the embers.

She throws one of each to Shikamaru, who catches them easily, pleased despite everything that, of all people he could end up inside of, it was another shinobi, and one of a matching level with his (though, in the privacy of his own mind, he'll admit that taijutsu-wise, she has him beat every day of the week). He doesn't know how he'd have coped if he had to manage with a civilian body.

As he eats without hunger, simply enjoying the taste as he fills his stomach to accept the medication, he watches his own body from the corner of his eyes. Sakura is muttering words he can't hear, playing with her food in a way he's intimately familiar with. That's when it hits him.

Slowly, he looks down at his hands, still holding onto the wooden pick and its remaining piece of pork. He feels all the blood drain from his face before he scrambles away from the camp as quick as possible, throwing up what he just ate behind a bush.

A hand that used to be his is running through hair that's too short, the comfort lost in the reeling of his mind. The reaction was automatic, but he realizes that the usual disgust isn't pooling in his stomach, the nausea gone instantly.

He doesn't have a brain anymore to tell him that the pig is still alive and it's going to start moving inside his stomach. He's fine with the idea of having meat inside of him.

Next to him, Sakura becomes violently green, right before she throws up next to his own puddle of sick.

Ah. Maybe the meat is moving inside of her, instead.

They look at each other, skin clammy and wet eyes, and that's when it hits them that this could be long-term. That they might not find a way to reverse it.

Neither of them is fine with that idea.

(banners and badges are available on the [shikasakuweek tumblr](https://shikasaku-week.tumblr.com/post/628691153119838209/shikasaku-week-regalia) @shikasaku-week)


	2. the cave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for ShikaSaku Week 2020
> 
> Day 2: like a moth (to a flame)  
> but this is more inspired by the lyrics, whereas day one was a bit of both  
> So the second prompt was the lyrics to Moby Dick by Jakey (honestly, the entire song, but for the purpose of the challenge, let's pretend it's just those two lyrics)  
> Lyrics #1 “I’m not the one that you wanted  
> But damn it I think I could be what you need”
> 
> This whole story is probably choke-full of typos and mistakes, but my face is tired from everything (wink wink) so I'm sorry, but it's not going to get better than this.   
> Take care of yourself.  
> Lyrics #2 “I know you better than you know yourself  
> Well, my self said “you can go straight to hell”

Thing is.

About a decade ago, the world survived a war that no one could have ever predicted. The loss of shinobi life had been colossal. More than ten years later, no Elemental Nation has bounced back from it quite yet. But the loss of civilian life had been on a scale so destructively, crushingly massive, that neither the culture, nor the economy, came back from it.

The first problem was rebuilding. What, and how, can you rebuild anything without the manpower, and beyond that, the engineering knowledge, to do it? Once they figured out rebuilding, which took months longer, and even years in some countries, than it ever should have taken, they had to figure out the agriculture. The shop ownership. The regular, every-day jobs that no one was left to perform.

And so it quickly broke down into two opposite results: the countries that adapted, and those that didn't.

Of the Five Elemental Nations, only three survived.

Thing is.

The shinobi force of the Land of Fire is made in equal parts of war survivors, bitter, wounded, with edges so sharp they regularly cut themselves, and each other, on the blades of their soul-crushing hurt; and the young blood of the baby boom that happened right after the war, where Konoha made the horribly unethical, but sensibly inevitable choice, of conscripting half of the children population into the Academy, parental consent or not.

Thing is.

The citizens of the Land of Fire, and Konoha-born shinobi in general, know one hard fact, know it deep and bloody, like an infected wound that finally scabbed over into an ugly, unavoidable, unforgettable scar. They know that when something can go wrong, it will.

So when their squad is ambushed by the cultists, on the edge of the great Konoha forest, where they all start to relax slightly because those trees mean safety and home. They strike where no one has ever dared strike before, so close to the Walls that a well-trained tokujo can make the run under five minutes, and any jōnin worth their while can shunshin to the doors without missing a beat.

This squad is made up of the most well-trained members of the jōnin force, including the ANBU Commander, the Jōnin Commander's second, two ANBU members and not a single person who hasn't fought their way bloody through the Fourth War.

Thing is.

The ANBU Commander and the Jōnin Commander's second swapped bodies less than ten hours before and neither is comfortable fighting in a body they don't know the capabilities of, nor have any kind of mastery of their respective techniques and jutsu.

It all goes to shit really quickly. Without them really noticing how it happens, they get separated from the rest of the squad, the bulk of the cultists going after their comrades in what Shikamaru and Sakura assume is confidence that they're not going to be too hard to subdue.

The cultists would be wrong, but only because luck is on Shikamaru's side today. He's not exactly sure how he does it, but his body somehow knows instinctively how to punch like Sakura would (not as skilfully, that's for sure, but he can punch hard and it's all they need). Sakura, on the other hand, doesn't need her enhanced strength to be a master of taijutsu, and together, they're good enough to get rid of the three men trying to capture them.

When the last one collapses, Shikamaru follows right behind, crumbling to the ground when the dull pain he had been pushing to the back of his mind in desperation and survival instinct roars its ugly head back into focus, hard enough that he sees white, then black, and when his vision finally agrees to work again, he's curled into a ball with vomit burning his throat and nose.

Sakura doesn't say anything and picks him up easily, swinging him gently until he's resting against her (his?) back in the medics' hold when the patient doesn't have spinal injuries. Both found out during the fight that they have no issue manipulating the chakra in each other's body, so Sakura coats her skin with a thin layer that allows her to stick Shikamaru securely to her back, forearm and hips, only his head free to move around so he can at least watch her six and warn her of incoming threats.

“I'm not making you walk all the way back to Konoha right now, and I don't feel comfortable using a shunshin when I'm not even sure your body will react the way I need it to.”

Shikamaru hums in agreement, the pain so encompassing he's having a hard time focusing on the logistics of their situation. He's stupidly glad Sakura is making the decisions for them right now. If he had half the brain to realize how he's acting, he wouldn't recognize himself. Which is kind of the problem, honestly.

“So I suggest we camp out in the manly cave until we're both feeling up to the trip, yeah?”

Shikamaru nods, his cheek compressed against the back of his own flack jacket. The manly cave is actually a great place to lick their physical and mental wounds, given that it's precisely what the place has been designed for. No one knows who found the manly cave, but a team found it, the only information we do have about them being that the Sannin were in the same promotion.

The team had been beaten and bloody, but not in danger of immediate death. However, what they were, was traumatized, flinchy, twitchy and kunai-happy. So their squad leader had made the executive decision to have them all stop in the cave, and basically... calm themselves down.

They spent two weeks there, sleeping so close together they found some of the blood from one guy's gut wound into a woman's head injury. They slept in what can only be described as a nest, surrounded by a circle of rocks and padded with everything from leaves to moss and the cured pelt of the bear they stole the cave from. After a couple of days, when the leader realized they all, him included, needed that time to put themselves back together, he sent a summon to the village and explained their situation.

One of his teammates may or may not have shed a few tears when reading the paper before he sent it away, and thus began the manly cave. Throughout the years, shinobi passing by improved the place, expanded the nest and added more pelts, built a structure of elevated beds for the twitchy people who need space during nightmares, a sturdy fire pit, a water collector, someone brought a solar shower, someone else built drying racks for meat and vegetables, and everyone who stops by cuts and piles up firewood for the next inhabitants.

There's a few sealing scrolls with tools, books, toys, a go board, even some basic art supplies and a well-loved, well-cared for biwa that literal generations of bored, traumatized shinobi has played for their teammates, friends and lovers, hidden away in this cave to begin to heal.

The instrument is carved with names and quotes about holding on, about family, about home, the wood is painted from top to bottom in a beautiful, sprawling fresco that has been worked on little by little, each new visitor who decided to add to it only doing it in small increments to form a complete scene.

The Naka river is running through the Nara forest, deer coming out from the shadows of the trees, birds, rabbits, turtles and what are obviously summon animals hidden throughout the scene as well, all looking at the river bank where a woman in a formal kimono is looking at her reflection in the water, her back turned from the painting's viewer. The water is clear and filled with salmon, koi and smaller fish.

On the back of the kimono are written the kanji for home, and the woman's face reflected in the water has glowing, white eyes, red lines coming from the lash line and disappearing into the kimono's collar, the same red echoed in triangle on the woman's nape and golden and crimson broaches and pendants in her pitch-black hair. With a red dot on her forehead, the jewels around her neck and her brother's sword laying next to her, Amaterasu is like a final layer of protection upon the biwa, and the cave as a whole.

It's no surprise that someone thought to built a shrine at the back of the cave. The makeshift altar is bound branches and weaved reeds, with a stack of incense neatly tied with a string, petition paper with a brush and an ink stone, clumsily drawn representations of Amaterasu and Tsukiyomi on the wall and many, many trinkets brought back from hundreds of people after the years, scattered all over the altar as offerings.

The cave, in many ways, is a more welcoming place than the hastily rebuilt Konoha, and the joke name for this very real place of healing is only a reminder of how much they need some time for themselves to untangle this mess of physical and emotional pain.

Honestly, had the situation been anything but this and they still needed a place to calm down and take stock, Shikamaru would have suggested the cave immediately. It's so close to the village, it's easy for anyone to come help them as soon as they're alerted, and it has everything they could possibly need.

As Sakura climbs up to the entrance of the cave, hidden behind a pretty strong genjutsu and a bunch of seals keyed to Konoha chakra, Shikamaru fights against the fog in his brain, the feeling of helplessness, and for the first time of his life, like his brain isn't his greatest ally anymore and he's having to come to term with all the secrets they all keep from each other, since no one knew about her pain (he doesn't think about how no one knows about his own _quirks_ ).

So yeah, had the situation been different, he probably would have been the one to suggest the manly cave, and not punched-out from pain, carried on the back of his own body by a woman who's body he's living inside of.

Thing is?

This is the situation they're in, and Shikamaru is finding it increasingly hard not to panic.


End file.
